"What am I saying?—this! Look at that house blazing with light, where they are feasting—the house of our exploiter, isn't it—where he is regaling his well-to-do friends? Well, in ten minutes, they will all be blown up."
"Blown up!—blown up!" repeated Marianne, almost mad with terror.
"Yes, it is there I have just come from; the dynamite is placed, the fuse lit; at midnight—the explosion!"
Marianne comprehended. Out of herself, she sprang upon Jacques Houdaille.
"Wretch!" she shrieked. "Wretch!—all the children in the country are there—ours—yours—monster!"
"What!—my children?" cried the man, passing the back of his hand across his brow and nearly sinking to the ground, but instantly recovering himself and disappearing into the darkness in the direction of the house.
Marianne was already there. She sprang across the threshold and, flinging the door wide open, cried:—
"The house is mined! Save yourselves! Save yourselves, all of you!"
At any other time, those who heard her might have thought her mad, and hesitated before taking flight; but, in the threatening circumstances of the hour, she had scarcely opened her lips before her appearance had told of danger.
The stronger carried out the weaker and the youngest of the party, while their elders threw open all the doors and drove the little ones out before them. By good fortune, the feast had been given on the ground floor, a few steps only from the street. In a few moments the house was emptied, the outer gates passed.